


it isn't spring yet

by iskra (kiira)



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-09 13:19:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4350317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiira/pseuds/iskra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'i’m scared, carm,” she whispers, 'i don’t know what’s happening, i don’t know what I can do.'</p><p>strong, you remind yourself, except it doesn’t really work.</p><p>'sometimes, we can’t do anything.'</p><p>///</p>
            </blockquote>





	it isn't spring yet

You swallow hard

/

She’s so pretty and hopeful and _young_ – you forget that sometimes, that she’s hundreds of years younger than you, that she will never see the world as you do. That she will never see herself as you do.

It’s usually comforting, her glittering innocence, the firm set of her eyes, but now – you don’t remember being nineteen, wonder if you ever were truly nineteen (no, of course not) and it hurts.

/

Your nineteenth birthday was identical to your twentieth and your thirtieth and your eighteenth. You die every time, you’re _dead_ every time.

For your nineteenth birthday, first birthday, Mother brings you a pretty girl, her hair dark brown and tied back in a yellow ribbon, her eyes wide and terrified, trembling. She begs you for her life and Mattie smiles at her prettily, promises to save her.

She never got the chance to thank Mattie (your mouth at her throat, her blood on your wrists).

Mattie laughs.

/

“I don’t have the brainspace to deal with you being all insecure and morally ambiguous right now,” she says and your breath catches.

What she says is: _Can you be that?_

And she’s nineteen and scared; you’re eighteen and terrified.

Can you? she asks and you love her more than you remember words for. You’re a good actress, always have been (you’re a terrible liar – always have been).

What you say is: _Of course_.

You don’t know what you mean.

/

Laura falls asleep easily, and you walk out the front door of your Mother’s apartment. Mattie is in the last standing dorm, and it’s easier than you want to admit to run to her.

“Good morning, kitten,” and she’s standing in her doorway, expecting you. “I’ve been watching your little _toy’s_ video journals. She’s precious, isn’t she?”

You nod.

“Except, darling, you’re here with me and not in her bed.”

You shove past Mattie, into her room. There’s a boy in her bed, and you practically throw him into the hallway, and Mattie pouts at you.

“That was my supper, kitty.”

“You still –  ” and gesture vaguely because you can’t really get the words to come out, because you can’t really feel your heartbeat anymore.

“Feed? Darling, we’re _vampires_. Don’t tell me that child has you starving yourself,” and you fight back a laugh because yes, she did.

Mattie looks at you carefully and gently shoves you down to sit on the warm bed.

“Don’t get me wrong, kitten, because heart to hearts aren’t ours, but you’re not going to do something,” and she concentrates carefully for a moment, “extreme, are you?”

(You remember New York, shatters, Mattie’s quiet hands).

“Of course not,” you bite at her, because she’s _wrong_ and because _Laura_.

She huffs and sits down next to you, starts to comb her fingers through your hair.

“So if it’s not _that_ , why are you with me and not with your lovely little pet? Not that I mind your company, but I was under the impression that we aren’t supposed to be on speaking terms.”

You let her question struggle in the air between you, until: “Have you ever been in love?”

She looks quiet, and brushes your bangs away from your face.

“No, darling – love is your mistake.”

/

You don’t really remember the night after Mattie’s bed – you wake up tasting vodka and animals’ blood and in an empty room (alone).

When you were younger every morning would be like this, like blood and girls and drinking and now – now you just feel hollow.

You walk back to Mother’s apartments, and Laura looks like you died again.

So you kiss her, knows she tastes the vodka, hopes she doesn’t know the metal of blood.

/

Slowly, you try to fade into the background of her videos, lounge on a chair behind Danny or bow your head into your book, stay quiet, stay hidden.

Will is in the videos more and more and after the first time you avoid him – he tried to kill Laura, tried to kill you, was everything you are were will be, and you miss him more than you could imagine.

He’s living upstairs, sits on the staircase and reads, wanders into your apartment when he forgets his keys and he and Laura laugh and laugh. She can look at him and see someone other than the boy who tried to kill her, tried to destroy her friends; you look at him and only see your brother.

it’s hard to keep away from him – he doesn’t remember you, not beyond what the little Victorian boy saw from his computer. You always wondered how you could die and this – this is how.  

Will smiles at you and you want to scream because he’s not supposed to do that.

/

Laura kisses your cheek and you want to arch into her touch (you’re so very scared).

“I’m scared, Carm,” she whispers, “I don’t know what’s happening, I don’t know what I can do.”

 _Strong_ , you remind yourself, except it doesn’t really work.

“Sometimes, we can’t do anything.”

“Oh,” she says quietly, doesn’t look you in the eyes.

“I’m sorry,” and she gives you a half nod; it doesn’t feel like enough (it will never feel like enough).

/

“I – I don’t want to be in your videos anymore, Laur,” and she looks as if she’s going to cry, or get up and leave the room, or break into her forced smile and start narrating the news Mattie feeds her.

So you keep talking, hold your fists tight at your side.

“It’s – it’s that I _can’t_ , I can’t do it,” and she looks less like she’s going to leave, more sad and you whisper, “I can’t do it,” once more before she does start to cry.

“Don’t worry about it,” she whispers and you become less of a show, of a performance, of every wonderful adjective Laura used to describe you (more yourself). You know you should, know you need to talk about this with her later, you need to start looking for words to describe everything (and everything your Mother did) but now you just let her hold you.

/

(There’s a time for life or death this – this isn’t it).

**Author's Note:**

> what a coherent fic this is, said no one ever
> 
> //
> 
>  
> 
> come hang out at bettymcraae.tumblr.com


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